


After We Fall Together

by AnUnknownForeignBeauty



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Adlock, Dysfunctional Relationship, F/M, Post Hiatus, pinning, season 2 & season 3, sherlock is indifferent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-18 00:57:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11280402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnUnknownForeignBeauty/pseuds/AnUnknownForeignBeauty
Summary: It is the story of Sherlock Holmes and Irene Adler, and their times together after the fall in season 2, and after the return in season 3. Two-shots.





	1. After the fall

**Timeline: Post-** **Reichenbach**

* * *

Month one

She was in the dressing room when she watched the news of his fall from the roof of St. Bart's on the television.

Her hand trembled for a second, smudging the lipstick a few millimeters away from her lips. She blinked only once, and then carefully picked up a tissue paper from the box to shape the smudged lipstick into perfect shape.

It was her debut show. She couldn't be nervous.

* * *

Month two

She was on her way home from the rehearsal. It was half past twelve in the winter night, and she was about to take the bus to her home. It was the last bus on the schedule, and there were only a few passengers left in the station. Suddenly, she spotted a solitary figure, sitting at a corner, playing violin. His face was partly covered by his hat, and the collar of his black overcoat was turned up to protect him from the cold. His long, shapely fingers were playing with the strings of the old, battered violin held beneath his chin.

She didn't gave him much concentration, just threw a coin in the aluminum pot in front of him. The low metallic sound interrupted his concentration. He stopped playing, and raised his eyes to look at her with an amused smirk in his lips. She recognized him the moment their eyes met.

Sherlock Holmes. Alive, obviously.

He looked so thin that she could easily deduce that he was ill fed for a long time. The scrapes on his face told her that he was going through a hard time.

None of them exchanged a single word. Not even a greeting.

The bus had arrived, and she was in hurry.

* * *

Month three

She didn't saw him again after the night. Every night she waited for the bus in the same station, with a hope to hear the familiar tune. Every time when she saw a street beggar playing violin, she searched for those familiar features.

None of them was him.

She never counted herself as a sentimental type. But still she didn't know why she was doing those silly things.

* * *

Month four

It was a cold night when she found him sitting in her sofa, with a burning cigarette between his fingers. She wasn't surprised with her unexpected guest, because she had deduced his presence the moment she stepped into the first stair. His snowy footprints were all over the stairs and her front door. He didn't greet her when she entered; but continued gazing out of the window instead.

She gazed at his newly dyed hair, and the goatee. New disguise, she thought. But unfortunately they couldn't hide his features well. His clothes were torn, with the hints of blood in the places where his skin were exposed. He was chased by his followers, she guessed. And the bundle of papers in his coat pocket was saying clearly that he was chased by Moriarty's men.

"Close the door, Miss Adler. Or my followers will find my hiding place." He said in a cold voice, with no hint of gratitude.

An amused smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. So, he chose her place as his hiding spot! Interesting!

"You better be careful with your footprints while choosing your hiding place next time, Mr. Holmes." She took a broom from the closet and began heading to the door.

He said nothing but glared.

* * *

Month five

The gallery was full of audiences for the three nights in a row. The gallery busted into applause when she made her final bow after her performance. The dressing room was full with her admirers and the crazy fans. She grew tired signing autographs for them. It was twelve o' clock in the morning when she could retire in the dressing room.

"Miss Norton." She was startled by the voice of the director approaching from behind her, "I'm so pleased with you. I think I can promote you to the lead singer."

"It will be very nice for me." She smirked noticing the young director's eyes gazing all over her lithe body. It didn't take her less than a second to take meaning. She slowly moved near her, taking her hand gently in hers, "Let's celebrate. How about a dinner?" Her tone swiftly turned from professional to flirty. She hadn't dinner for a long time.

It was two o' clock in the morning when her phone beeped. She uncomfortably shifted in the embrace of her dinner guest, reaching for the glowing phone under her pillow.

One new message- it read.

_Enjoyed your dinner, Miss Adler?- SH_

She stared at the screen for a long time, and then a lazy smile laced her lips.

_Jealous, Mr. Holmes?- IA_

But the reply never came.

* * *

Month six

She woke up to find him sitting in her dining table. His brows were drawn closer, and his eyes were wearing the typical calculating look. The tea remained forgotten in front of him. She was amazed to see another cup of tea beside his own. Surely not for himself.

"Good morning." She mumbled, taking her seat beside him, and sipping the tea. Not bad! He only stared, but didn't respond. He continued gazing at the papers in his hands. The profile of Sebastian Moran, Irene noticed from the corners of her eyes. The faint fragrance of a French cologne trickled her nose.

"Florence?" She asked.

"What?" Sherlock's head snapped.

"You've been to Florence, tracking Sebastian Moran."

"Good deduction." He said without looking at her.

"Is it a complement?" She asked.

He raised his eyes from the papers. His expression immediately indicated that he knew the conclusion she'd came to. "Don't flatter yourself." He warned.

She opted to ignore his tone and smirked instead.

* * *

Month seven

The company was preparing for the next show in UK. It was a busy schedule.

The director often found her sitting at corner, texting someone. She found her often in this way, lately.

"To whom you're texting?" She asked curiously. "Your boyfriend?"

"Texting someone doesn't make him my boyfriend." Irene replied coldly. Her expression was a bit annoyed.

"How about a dinner tonight?" The director tried to elevate her mood a bit "In your house?"

She stared at her phone for a second, and then nodded, "Alright."

* * *

Month eight

She didn't text him for another month. Why would she when she had lot more fun to have? But again she was getting bored. Why the New York City was full of boring people? She could deduce them so easily; they bent to her will so easily. She missed the tension.

A very palpable tension. She decided to go back to her favorite pastime game.

* * *

Month nine

She stared at the screen of her phone. Seventy-nine messages…Not a single reply. All of them were directed to only one person, Sherlock Holmes.

May be he was out of the network. Or maybe he was in danger. Or maybe…he was…

Dead.

That thought suddenly made her to feel sick in her stomach.

She tried to ignore the feelings. She always considered caring as a disadvantage. She was never the caring type. Was she?

She sighed, and began typing the eightieth message.

_Are you dead? Let's have dinner._

* * *

Month ten

Her performance on the stage was declining. The director warned her for the last time. She wasn't worried about that much. She knew a dinner date would manage everything.

* * *

Month eleven

Her phone beeped when she was on the way to her dinner date with the director. One new message- it read. The number was unknown. An amused smirk laced her lips when she opened the text.

_Stop jamming my inbox, Miss Adler.- SH_

She cancelled her dinner date.

* * *

Month Twelve

They ensured her that they had found the replacement already, but still she was a bit worried. With her declining performance, and a sick lead violinist, the show was going to be nothing but a public humiliation.

She didn't notice him until she stepped on the stage, and found him watching her from the corner, with an amused smirk on his lips. His violin was held in it's position under his chin, his shapely fingers were ready to play with the strings.

He was tracking her of course. It didn't surprise her. The part that surprised her, that impressed her the most, was that he was here. That he had found her.

She smirked back at him. And then the curtain lifted.

She sang in the way that she had never sung before.

After the show when the whole team gathered for the final bow, she found herself standing next to him, but his eyes were locked on a particular audience in the crowd. John Watson- she recognized him at once, with a beautiful girl by his side. She gave Sherlock a side ways glance, as if trying to deduce the reason behind his sudden visit to London. But his expression was neutral. She wondered if he was here to see John, or to help her. She wasn't sure. She searched for him after the show, but he was nowhere to be found. And at last when she retired in her room, she was surprised to find a tiny box over the mantelpiece.

A laughing Buddha with a note.

_Good performance, Miss Adler._

* * *

Month thirteen

She followed a specific blog every day- "Travel journal" by a Norwegian named Sigerson Wolf. The young man had a remarkable writing style, good observation, and a very good way to explain his own weird way of thinking.

Well, he was travelling a lot. She smirked to herself. No one, but only she could deduce who was the man behind the name of Sigerson Wolf.

_I like the name. Let's have dinner._

* * *

Month fourteen

When he walked into her room that evening, he looked paler than usual. Even before she could react, Sherlock switched off the lights, and flung the shutters of the windows together, bolting them securely. Then he sank into her favorite armchair, without explaining anything.

Irene was quite annoyed this time.

"I need to hide." He said, noticing her annoyed expression.

"Well," She raised one eyebrow, and retreated into the kitchen.

They had tea afterwards. She didn't ask him from whom he was hiding again, nor did he bother to give any explanation. And while all that was important, she had a bigger question in mind. Another mystery, one far more interesting by whom Sherlock Holmes was chased.

Of course, he read her mind this time, and warned her not to lose her head over irrelevant thoughts. She ignored his tone, and smiled instead. His expression immediately indicated that he knew the conclusion she had come to.

"Don't even think about that." He sighed. "It's just a coincidence."

Her smirk never wavered. Was it always the coincidence? Or was it the logical decision to seek her out?

He didn't answer.

* * *

Month fifteen

He disappeared for another month. Possibly chasing the last two remaining allies of Moriarty. In a year and half almost all of Moriarty's allies were arrested, and slowly the web was crushing down. She knew, because she was once a part of it.

She didn't expect him to come that day, or to find him lying in her bed, gazing blankly at her ceiling. It was pretty annoying to find one's bed occupied after a long tiring day. She said nothing, but disappeared into the bathroom. When she appeared after a fresh shower, she found him still in the same position. She didn't invite him for the dinner, he didn't join.

He spoke for the first time when she slipped under the cover beside him, completely ignoring his presence in her bed. "I prefer to be alone, Miss Adler." His voice was cold as ice.

Irene ignored his tone. Pulling the cover over her head, she said, "This is my bed, Mr. Holmes. I prefer it for myself."

"I don't like any distraction when I think."

His tone made her smile. She rolled to her side, so that she could see his face, and gazed into his sea blue eyes, "So, I always provide a distraction then." She purred.

Sherlock shot her a murderous glare. Irene happily ignored his stare, and snuggled close to him under the cover. he didn't move. He would provide good warmth in the cold night.

After all her room heater stopped working for the last two days.

* * *

Month sixteen

She didn't mind to find her bed sheet gone from her bed, because she had already stolen his dressing gown. When she returned from the bathroom after a fresh shower, she found him sitting in her living room, wrapped in her bed-sheet. He was annoyed, clearly; and the thought brought a happy smile to her lips. She settled down into an armchair opposite to him, letting her legs to hang over the armrest carelessly, which exposed a bigger part of her shapely legs.

Over the book, which she pretended to read, she tried to follow the direction of his eyes. But his face was hidden behind the newspaper he was reading as usual.

Silence wrapped the small living room, until she woke up with a sad heartbreaking tune playing somewhere near her. She opened her eyes to find him standing by the window, playing his violin.

She recognized the tune at once- THE Woman.

* * *

Month seventeen

She was in Florence, in a hotel, the day when the last of Moriarty's allies was arrested. She was planning her next show with her director, and then she was distracted by a heated conversation at her door. She recognized one of the voices among the people talking outside. She excused herself from the meeting, and opened the door; only to find Sherlock handcuffed by the security guards.

"This man is trying to break into your room, Mam." The guard informed her, "He even knows what you keep inside your purse."

Irene understood about his _showing off_ tendency. But it led him into uncomfortable situations many times.

"Isn't it obvious, sir?" Irene decided to distract the guard with a mischievous tone "He knows my everything. He is my husband."

He glared at the last word, not particularly thrilled to imagine as in a common relationship with this woman. Still, he stopped himself before he could contradict her. He might be rubbish with people, but he knew what could convince them easily. She smirked at his frustration and he gave her one last annoyed look before he sighed and nodded.

That night she didn't mind to share her bed with him.

* * *

Month eighteen

She didn't expect him to return to New York with her. She asked the cause of his return, especially when Moriarty's network was destroyed completely. He had no reason to stay dead now, especially when his best friend was missing him so badly.

"You must tell John." She said. "You must have seen his face during the funeral."

He gave her a vague explanation about the reason of his staying dead for another while, telling her that he had to make sure that Moriarty's network was completely destroyed. He couldn't take any risk.

But she hardly bought his reasoning. Then what was the reason of staying with her? There were so many places in the world. There was no reason to annoy her anymore with his presence.

"There is no reason in the world of dead." He said; his voice was perfectly calm.

She smirked. May be he didn't want to tell, but she had deduced the reason long ago.

* * *

Month nineteen

Living with him wasn't as bad as she thought. Especially when her surrounding was full of dull, boringly simple people.

It was a great exercise of mind, or she thought. They played chess- sometimes, although there was no clear winner between them. She made witty comments, sometimes about world politics, or crimes or some awful telly they watched together. Sometimes he agreed, or sometimes they stopped one step away from murdering one another. And then when she got too bored, she resumed her old game.

She slipped into his favorite dressing gown not caring to wear anything beneath it, threw away her high heels, and curled up in a chair opposite to him with her long bare legs neatly tucked beside her. He seemed never fazed by her presence. He continued reading the newspaper or typed something in his blog. When he got bored he simply picked up his violin and played.

But almost every time he played the same tune- The Woman.

Sometimes there was occasional mails from someone called Molly Hooper. Sometimes news about John, or sometimes about Mrs. Hudson. The way he read them, she knew that he cared about them deeply. And for the girl too who sent him the messages.

"Is she your girlfriend, Mr Holmes?" She asked once.

In the answer he only smirked, "Jealous, Miss Adler?"

She didn't reply.

He rarely slept, but when he did, he was always in her bed. It annoyed her, but she never drove him away. Instead, she gently slipped beside him under the covers, and snuggled close to him, pressing her body against him seductively. She felt him being tensed a bit, but he never moved away from her.

* * *

Month twenty

All games had to end. And she knew it was the same for hers too. Although she wasn't sure who made the first approach.

Possibly both of them became too bored to play the game.

It was a usual evening of October. And she found him sitting into his favorite armchair by the fire with an extremely bored expression in his face.

"It is so dull." The violin hit the wall next to her, missing her for an inch. She arched one eyebrow and asked the reason behind his terrible mood. He didn't bother to answer, but sank into the sofa, throwing a bored look at her.

"I'm bored." He complained, clutching his dark curls with his fingers like a child. She watched him with amused expression as he continued complaining, Dull, dull, dull. Surely his brilliant mind was getting bored over a month. He needed a distraction.

She put down her book, and threw him a mischievous look, "Dinner?" She suggested, moving close to him, straddling his legs between hers.

His head snapped at her suggestion, and she found something flashed across his mind. He needed something to occupy his mind. He needed something new before spiraling into the bowels of boredom.

May be it wasn't a bad idea.

He didn't protested when she laced her fingers in his, or took his pulse. Elevated. His blue eyes were almost swallowed by the huge, dark, dilated pupil. A chemical defect, she thought.

He didn't flinch away when she leaned forward to kiss him. She smiled.

Now she had no doubt that she had won the game at last.

* * *

Month twenty one

One late night she found him walking around the flat, speaking in a low voice with his brother. She felt something wrong in his voice, as he spoke. When he cut the line, she felt something was bothering him. She didn't ask him what it was all about. But when she kissed him, she felt a sigh erupting from the depth of his heart.

She knew their time was running out. She felt it.

And suddenly she began to miss him.

Why did she? Did she love him?

No, she wasn't that sentimental type.

So, she held him tight to calm her trembling heart.

* * *

Month twenty two

How could she define the dimension of their relationship? Lust?...Love?...Anger?...Friendship?...

She had no idea. She didn't want to admit her feelings for him. Neither did he. They never wanted to. But a strange emptiness engulfed her heart, when he informed that he was going back to London within a month.

She felt the same way she felt when he exposed her secrets in Belgravia.

She wanted beg him to stay here for another month. But she didn't. She couldn't beg for his mercy.

Twice.

* * *

Month twenty three

She watched him packing his things. He had not much things in his belonging. Still she offered her help, he didn't refuse. She sat down and began folding his clothes one by one into his bag. Her fingers lingered a bit longer to his favorite blue scarf than it needed. And when it came to his dressing gown, she quietly slipped one of her photographs in one of its pockets. She eyed Sherlock wondering if he had noticed it or not. She was sure that he did. But it seemed like that it didn't matter to him anymore.

He sat in the armchair, with a burning cigarette between his fingers.

Nicotine patches didn't work. He needed to smoke a lot now a days.

* * *

Month twenty four

31st August 2013.

It was 11:55 pm when he gathered his bags to leave. The taxi was already waiting at the door. He found her already waiting at the end of the stairs. They didn't exchange a single word while she helped him to load his bags in the taxi.

She didn't shed a tear. Sentiment wasn't her area. But still he couldn't explain why she moved near him when he was about to board the taxi, and tugged the end of his coat gently.

She was sure that he despised sentiment as a big disadvantage. But still she couldn't explain why he stopped to brush his lips against her forehead.

"Goodbye, Miss Adler." His voice was calm. His expression was neutral.

"Goodbye, Mr. Holmes." She voice didn't weaver a bit.

As the taxi drove away, the clock chimed 12:01am.

 _Goodbye, Mr. Holmes. Take care.._ She typed.

The reply came almost immediately.

_Till the next time, Miss Adler.- SH_

* * *

References

According to the original books from _**Sir Aurther Conan Doyle** ,_ Holmes traveled Florence, Tibet, and few other countries to track down Moriarty's network after his supposed death from the reichenbach fall. He wrote a weekly column in the newspapers about his travel under the name of Sigerson Wolfe.

According to **_William S. Baring-Gould_ ** Adler took the profession of an opera singer, and she encountered Holmes during his 'death', They performed on stage together incognito, and become lovers.


	2. After the return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timeline: Post season 3

**Timeline: during season 3**

* * *

September, 2013

He didn't hope to see her again. He didn't feel sad. He wasn't heartbroken. Yet he couldn't explain the strange feelings building in the pit of his stomach.

What was it? He didn't know. He wasn't the sentimental one. When he slipped his hand in his coat pocket to pay the cabbie, he felt something in there- a piece of paper. Curiously he took it out from his pocket, and looked at it in the dim street light.

It was not a piece of paper, but a photograph.

A photograph of Irene Adler.

* * *

November, 2013

He was in Siberia, dismantling the last thread of Morierty's network. He was caught, and was rescued by his brother. He was back in London again, and was welcomed like a celebrity.

The thought of Irene Adler never crossed his mind. He was too excited to find his new life in old London.

But things didn't go in the way he had expected. John moved on, with his new girlfriend Mary Mortsan. Molly got engaged. He collapsed in his old chair, holding his bleeding nose with a tissue paper. Everyone moved on, and he was left alone.

Suddenly the feeling of something firm in his coat pocket startled him. Curiously he slipped his hand to find a piece of paper. A very familiar piece of paper.

His hand shook unwillingly when he took it out. The photograph of Irene Adler. His eyes lingered a second longer to the woman in the picture than it was needed.

She didn't text him again, since his resuscitation. She was dead, and remained dead to the world. And he was back to the world of the living.

Death changed everything.

But her photograph remained with him. Always.

* * *

June, 2014

Everything was coming back to the normal slowly. John and Sherlock were solving crimes together again. Everything felt like old days, except John's absence in his flat. He didn't mind. He always lived alone. Alone protected him. But was it true?

Again like today even Sherlock Holmes was feeling lonely. He was bored with his experiments. Even the cases sounded so boring. What happened to the London criminals? He had no one to argue with. John was often busy in dating Mary, and Mrs. Hudson was spending time with her new beau.

"Bored!" He screamed like a child, throwing the violin towards the wall. It hit the mantelpiece, knocking off the photo frame which was resting beside his skull. The frame hit the floor, sending the broken glasses flying everywhere.

Under the mess, a familiar photograph, caught his attention. He bent to pick it up, and carefully wiped away the broken glasses all over it. His eyes caught to her teasing brown eyes staring at him from the photo. Sighing he sank into his sofa, and retreated in his mind place.

There was she, The Woman, waiting for him in her battle dress. Why was he visiting her room? He wasn't the sentimental type.

"Yes, you are, Mr. Holmes." She smiled, tracing her long red nails along his cheekbones.

"Get out of my head." He snarled at her, "I'm busy."

"Oh, no!" She smiled, seductively, "You are not. Let's have dinner."

* * *

July, 2014

He was busy. Really busy, with all the preparation for the wedding and shopping. It was not every day when your best friend asked you to be his best man. His living room was turned into a dustbin with his drafts of his best man speech, and Sidney opera house shaped folded napkins.

He was worried, but excited. He didn't need to visit his mind palace this time.

The photo remained forgotten under the pile of old documents, gathering dusts.

* * *

August, 2014

She came to his life again in flesh and blood at the night of John's wedding. When he walked into his room, he found her sitting by the fire in his favorite armchair. He wasn't surprised to find her sneaking in his flat; because it was her one of her favorite adventures. But he was surprised with the fact that she was in London.

"You look sad, Mr. Holmes." She smirked; rising from her seat, moving close to him. The air was heavy with the fragrance of her expensive perfume, and her red lips glittered in the orange glow of the fire. She wasn't wearing anything except her red high heels and the diamond earrings, glittering in the dark.

The famous detective didn't bother to answer her question. Instead he strode past her, took off his coat, and threw them on John's former sofa. When he was about to head towards his bedroom, she caught his hand between her soft, shapely fingers. "You haven't answered my question."

Although the detective was really tired with the whole wedding thing, her sudden appearance annoyed him as well. He shot her a murderous glare, "That's not your problem, Ms. Adler."

"Oh, really!" She purred, slipping her hand around his waist. She took a step closer, tilted her head, and locked her brown eyes into his grey-blue ones, "But I owe you a dance, Mr. Holmes."

Before he could even respond, she turned on the music player, which became alive with the music of the waltz he had composed for John and Mary. She moved closer, placed her hand on his shoulder, and took his unwilling hand to place it around her waist. "It is time to payback, Mr. Holmes." She whispered in his ears.

"You shouldn't come here, Ms. Adler. It isn't safe." He whispered. Her expensive perfume was trickling his nose, his pulse was quickening under her fingers on his wrist.

"From when you begin to care about me, Mr. Holmes?" She smiled seductively, rubbing her smooth cheek against his. "I thought you're not that sentimental type."

Sherlock wanted to throw her out from the window or wanted to chide her with the harshest words of his vocabulary for disturbing him in the middle of the night. But none of his thoughts turned into action. Instead he took her hand, and led her to the middle of the room for their first ever dance together.

And the next day when he woke up, he found the photograph returned to its place over the mantelpiece.

* * *

September, 2014

He was on a case, gathering information. And there he met Janine, Magnnasum's PA. The girl took immediate interest in the handsome detective.

"Oh, Mr. Holmes." He was startled by her voice on his way out of Magnnasum's office, "I'm so pleased to meet you again. What are you doing here?"

"Just having a look." He smirked noticing the young girl's admiring eyes watching him with much interest. "Guess you need some help in buying clothes for your sister's baby girl."

"Oh my God!" Janine screamed with surprise, "She is absolutely lovely little thing. Will you help me, Mr. Holmes?" It didn't take him less than a second to read the over impressed girl's mind. A thought crossed his mind immediately. A plan. A very clever one. He slowly moved near her, taking her hand gently in hers, "It will be my pleasure, Ms. Janine."

They had their dinner at Angelo's, and Janine had a slightly bit more wine than her ideal intake. Her blood alcohol level was higher than the safety limit, Sherlock guessed. Even he advised her to excrete the load in the toilet, but somehow the level remained higher than usual. So, that night unfortunately she landed in Sherlock's house, in his bedroom wearing his shirt. When she entered into his bedroom, the first thing she noticed, the photograph, sitting on the mantelpiece, with his favorite things, and the skull.

"Who is she?" She narrowed her eyes; "Your ex?" Her voice hinted jealousy.

Sherlock shot at a murderous glare at her. But he didn't deny her accusation.

It was two o' clock in the morning when his phone beeped. He uncomfortably shifted in the embrace of his date, and reached for the glowing phone under the pillow. It read one new message. The number was unknown.

_Trying to make me jealous, Mr. Holmes? - IA_

He glared at the screen for a long time, and sighed.

* * *

October, 2014

_He was climbing fanatically through the endless stairs, searching for the door of consciousness._

_He knew he was dying. Blood was draining away from his body with each minute, and he was going deeper and deeper into the shock._

_But he just couldn't die like this. John Watson was in danger. He had to live for him. In the basement of his mind palace, Morierty was still laughing like a lunatic, struggling against the chain that held him confined to the padded walls. "Mrs. Hudson will cry. Mummy and Daddy will cry. Come on Sherlock just die."_

_His words were echoing in his ears, the stairs seemed endless. "The Woman will cry."_

_He slammed his fists against the wooden doors, one after another, turning the handles to unlock them. But no, none of them opened._

_He had just lost the key of his mind palace._

_The world was getting dark before his eyes; all the sounds around him were fading. He knew he was dying. Finally. For real this time. His knees buckled, and he was falling, collapsing on the floor of his mind palace._

" _Come with me." Right then his head snapped with a voice whispering beside him, and a pair of hands caressed his cheekbones. "Oh, Sherlock, look at me." Slowly, and gently he opened his eyes, only to find those bright brown eyes looking at him. The usual hunting look of her eyes was gone, and was replaced by a strange tenderness. He wasn't sure what that emotions called._

" _Ms. Adler." He whispered, desperately pressing her hands against his skin. He never felt so vulnerable before. She smiled, her red lips quivered a little. She moved closer to the vulnerable mess of a detective, and pressed her index finger against his lips._

" _Hush now." She whispered, "Its ok. Just follow me." She offered her hand._

_And Sherlock accepted it._

The heart monitor began beeping frantically with the sound of his life returning to his still heart. And his blue eyes were opened to the bright operation theatre light.

* * *

December, 2014

"Till the next time, Ms. Adler." He told her before leaving.

It wasn't a promise. It wasn't a vow. It was a lie. Like all the lies they said to each other.

He had murdered a man. He saved John and Mary. And he was going to die within the next six months. No faking his time, no way to return. His things were packed for him and a plane was waiting for him in the runway. He didn't cry when he said goodbye to John. Mary was there to take care of him.

And the East wind was coming for him. Coming to get him.

"Excuse me?" He excused the guard before handing his phone for the last time before boarding the plane waiting for him, "I just want to text someone before I leave."

The guard glanced at Mycroft for permission, who nodded in agreement. He took the phone, and switched it on.

" _Goodbye, Ms. Adler_." He typed his last message to her.

The reply came almost immediately.

" _Be safe, Mr. Holmes. Take care.- IA"_

_**The End**   
_

* * *

References

According to Sir Author Conan Doyle, Holmes had the photograph of Miss Irene Adler, which was his most prized possession among all of his belongings. The Woman never made another appearance in any of Holmes stories except "A scandal in Bohemia". But she was mentioned several times by Holmes himself with much respect always.


End file.
